Keep your knives sharp
by SilverMoonPhantom
Summary: A collection of Crossover oneshots (Supernatural/Danny Phantom)
1. Chapter 1

Danny noticed his mom in the living room, but headed upstairs.

His phone was still at his computer desk, blinking to show him that he had a message. Or three. You could never tell.

He hummed, tapping the edge of his phone. Oh? A voicemail from an unknown number. Odd.

Danny opened the voicemail, listening to a harried-sounding mother try to calm her fussy child while reminding him to pick up milk and extra toilet paper. She wished him love, and there was the sound of something splashing in the background before she cursed and hung up.

Wrong number.

He slid down into his computer chair, and on a whim typed "Danny Phantom" into the search bar. A few pictures popped up, and some newspaper articles. Of course some sites declared he was a cry for attention from a dying town, but there were also fansites and some...interesting literature.

Somehow it reminded him of Tucker's link. They had seen the black car roll into town, overheard the two questioning someone at a diner. Tucker had immediately become interested, while Danny leaned more toward suspicion. Either way, his friend dove right into research on the two, and sent him a link of his findings with some ominous texts warning to be careful.

A double-click later, and images filled his screen.

The PDF that opened was not one he expected.

Police reports, news articles, photographs, all of them featuring their past guests.

His mind connected the dots as quickly as he could comprehend what he was reading. They had a pattern, an attraction to supernatural rumors. His mom had been in contact for days before they arrived.

It felt like ice was wrapping around his heart, far more venomous than when his frosty core had been overfilled.

He quickly sent it to his printer, readying a highlighter. The machine clicked its displeasure at the sudden work, spitting out the web pages obediently. Danny slunk down the stairs, finding his mother sipping away at a glass of wine in the living room, a book sprawled open on her lap.

"Mom."

His voice was strong, on the edge of commanding. This was serious, he didn't have time to beat around the bush.

"The guys that came over yesterday - the Winchesters. They're dangerous."

As she looked up, he slid the thin stack onto the book's pages. Mug shots stared up from the paper, green ink drawing her eye downward. The glass of wine was lowered to the table beside her chair.

"They're serial killers, and I think they're targeting you."


	2. Best Endings

"Ignorant child. I know better than most, the path a story can take. I have felt empires rise and fall, I can feel the climax of a story pulling at my bones." He faltered, adjusting his glasses. "Not that I have bones, but it's a feeling."

"GhostWriter, you're monologuing." The man sniffed haughtily, adjusting his scarf.

"It's a narrative. Shut your fool mouth." A gleam sparked in the corner of his eye, and he swooped forward, either not noticing or ignoring the way Danny flinched back. Their noses were almost touching, and from this distance it was really obvious how every one of the writer's teeth were sharp and serrated. How did he not bite his tongue all the time?

"Every story needs a good ending. Is yours a tragedy? Will the underdog succeed? Is this a tale of sacrifice or of Coming of Age? I want to know."

"This isn't a story, Ghostwriter. This is reality."

"But reality IS a story! It's all a tale to be told, and the audience decides who is the hero, and who is the villain. You're the hero of this story, child." His grin widened. "I plan to see this plot to the end."

Danny stared at him for a moment, taking a breath. "What if I'm not the Hero?"

Ghostwriter scoffed.

"Any good writer knows a hero when they see one. You have it written across your face, emblazoned across your chest like a badge of honor. You're a main player, Phantom, whether you like it or not. We can prepare the path, but you have to walk it."

Danny sighed.

"The people of the Far-Frozen call you the Chosen One, don't they?"

He gave the bespectacled ghost a half-hearted glare and flies away.

Ghostwriter just cackled, swooping off toward his library. He's been keeping an eye on the newest section lately, watching manuscripts shiver into being, being edited and revised, and some of them bound.

He plucked a softcover from the shelf, ignoring the dozen books flitting around him, finding their places as they were created. The best part about crossovers, he thought wickedly, was the ultimate decision of the author - Who would become the main character? Who would triumph? How skillfully would they weave the worlds together?

Literal or not, anticipation thrummed in his bones as he spread his fingers over paper and ink. He knew that a black car was approaching Amity Park, a climax of epic proportions following close behind.

He closed the book with a snap.

It would do no good to spoil the ending. GhostWriter let a hissing laugh slip between his teeth, tucking the book on a high shelf.

Carver Edlund always had the best endings.


End file.
